


for my prayer has always been love; what did i do to deserve this now?

by goldfyshie927



Series: in quiet places we find ourselves [1]
Category: AC: Valhalla, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed: Valhalla - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfyshie927/pseuds/goldfyshie927
Summary: will there ever come a time when the price is too high?eivor faces the fall out of the holy day
Relationships: Eivor & Randvi (Assassin's Creed), Eivor x Randvi - Relationship, Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed), Female Eivor x Randvi, Female Eivor/Randvi - Relationship, Randvor, female eivor & randvi
Series: in quiet places we find ourselves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114202
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	for my prayer has always been love; what did i do to deserve this now?

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers if you have not finished the game so reader beware.
> 
> this is barely canon - the conversation she has with randvi when reporting on hamtunscire is pulled from the game but otherwise, the ideas are all my own
> 
> also: minor talk of blood, burning bodies, and nightmares

The funeral pyre caught and began to burn. Eivor gripped her torch tightly. It splintered beneath her hand, shards digging into her palm. She said a few words, honoring their dead. Sent them off with glory, a tribute to their bravery. She felt empty, her heart not yet placated, too twisted with the uncertainty of what lies beyond this life. If not Valhalla, then what? Perhaps Hunvald’s god heard them. Perhaps not. Did she expect anyone to be listening, after all she’d seen? No. There was nothing left for them on the other side. Maybe Hunvald’s god was different, as he’d said. Maybe he’d been right. It may be that his god would be the one to welcome them all into his loving embrace. Eivor suspected not. 

The remaining few began to disperse, to speak amongst themselves. Eivor found she could not move from her place near the pyre, even as the flames threatened to come too near for comfort. She felt tethered to it, to the dead, knowing they would soon be gone, erased from this world. It was only in her that they would live on. And someday, maybe soon, she too would cease to exist. Who, then, would carry her name into the tenuous future? 

Eivor grew restless, pacing the mountainside as the fire grew. Tonight, she was the wolf. She would bare her teeth at the moon, let her screams tear from her lungs. But not right now. Now, she was a caged animal, beholden to the captivity of this period of grief. She must stay as the one responsible to those who had survived. 

Eventually, she slowed, then stopped, her body tired though her mind pressed forward. She studied the flames, watching them lick and curl in on themselves, eating away at the bodies and souls of those she’d come to love most in this world. They scattered with the ash on the wind. Eivor wondered idly if it was possible to collect the ash, mold it back into what they used to be. She chuckled humorlessly. Exhaustion must be setting in to cause such silly thoughts. 

Gods, she was tired. Her shoulders ached. Her axe felt as heavy as a grindstone where it lay against her hip, pulling her down until she thought maybe she’d become part of the earth. But, no. Her feet remained flesh, her legs still capable of movement. 

It had been a long and arduous journey, the road behind her now. A road strewn with bodies, soaked in blood. The blood of her friends. Each decision was a bend that seemed to take her further and further from the ones she’d allied with, the ones she’d supped with, the ones who’d challenged her and drank with her and loved her. 

Hunvald.

Hjorr.

Ubba.

Soma.

The price she’d paid for this feeble victory, if one could even call it that, was high indeed. All had come willingly. Each had agreed to help, knowing the risk, the potential cost. They had come when she called, faithful to their vows. Remembering this did not help. Eivor felt the loss of each more acutely than any she’d endured before. She swallowed, her stomach sour. This did not taste like victory. 

Eivor would carve their names into her ribs, wear them for the rest of her days, well into the next life. They deserved as much. A witness to their glory. Someone to carry their sagas into the days and months and years ahead. 

“Eivor,” Vili called, breaking through her thoughts. She glanced up sharply to see him walking towards her. “Do you wish to set up camp here? Or travel through the night?”

“Let the men rest. We have a long journey back. I do not want them to be exhausted. Hamtunscire still holds many dangers for us. We should stay alert.” 

Vili nodded once, then reached out and clapped her shoulder. “We will cheer our friends on tonight, celebrate their lives as they are being welcomed in Valhalla.” 

“Yes, we will,” Eivor replied. She could not find the words to say more. Why throw water onto the fire of her men’s celebrations because of her own foul mood? 

Vili looked at her, searching her face, before nodding again and moving back towards the men, shouting orders. 

Ljuvina appeared at her side, staring into the flames, still holding the smoldering torch. She spoke without looking at Eivor. 

“I think he knew it was the end,” she said, her already low voice more hushed. Eivor looked down at her, her mouth set in a grim line. “He came anyway. I thought that if we were together, I could save him from whatever fate the Nornir had woven for him. Surely, as his wife, his heart, I should be able to.” 

Eivor closed her eyes. “We should all be able to unravel our fate, fight against it.” Her words were meaningless. Empty. She knew this. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Ljuvina watching her. 

“The cost is high enough now, is it not?” Ljuvina asked, echoing Eivor’s own thoughts. She did not wait for a reply and moved away to be alone once again. 

Eivor watched her walk away. Ljuvina was right, echoing Eivor’s own thoughts. They’d all paid in blood and tears. There was no glory to be found here amongst the corpses. Only grief, crushing and dark. 

Eivor stepped away from the pyre, the cold air reaching her now that the heat of the blaze no longer warmed her skin. It would snow soon. The thought made her want to weep. She longed for home, for her warm bed, Mouse at her feet, the crackle of the fire in the longhouse hearth. For Randvi. Her longing felt like a noose. She should hang herself with it, for daring to want comfort right now. She deserved none of it. 

Putting her fingers to her mouth, Eivor whistled and her horse came to her. She climbed on, her fingers gripping the reins tightly. Vili started to come her way, questions on his face and she held up a hand, stopping him. He seemed to understand, taking a step back. For that, she was grateful. 

Then Eivor rode, into the night, into the cold. She rode until her lungs burned with frost, until she could no longer feel her fingers from the bite of the air. When she finally stopped, she found herself along a soft curve of a river. She dismounted onto the embankment, her feet sinking slightly into the wet earth. Her horse grazed nearby as she stood, watching the water run its course. The sound lulled her and she sat on a fallen log, her shoulder slumping forward. Her eyelids were heavy. She just wanted to rest. 

She lifted her eyes and watched for a long while as the stars made their way across the sky, following their well worn paths. Though her world had been thrown off kilter many times over since coming to England, Eivor took comfort in knowing that at least the heavens remained unaltered. Each night would melt into morning. The sun would rise again. The rain would fall and the clouds would dissolve and eventually it would all freeze over only to thaw again in spring. She found solace in the repetition of nature, constant and never changing. Perhaps that’s why the river before her felt like a balm for her wounded soul, always steady in its course. 

She stayed as long as she could, until she could no longer deny her need to return to her soldiers. Eivor gathered her mount’s reins in her hands, then pressed her palm to his nose. He snorted softly, the hot puff of air fogging the space between them. She smiled, scratching his forehead. Her faithful steed was yet another instance of nature once again providing the steadiness she craved, always constant. 

Eivor rode back to the small forward camp. As she neared, she heard the sounds of revelry, shouting and laughter, drunken groans. It warmed her to know that her crew was celebrating, unburdened by the events of the day. They deserved as much, having fought bravely without hesitation under her command. She tied her horse to a nearby tree and stood for a long while, running her fingers through its mane, listening. Her heart ached to join them and find consolation in the familiarity of celebration and feasting. 

“One drink,” she thought to herself. “One drink, then to bed.”

Eivor drank her ale slowly. Her soldiers were far gone and no one noticed that she did not get drunk, not even tipsy. She was all the better for it. Clear headed, she could appreciate these men and women in a new way. They clapped her on her back, cheering at their victory. Vili slid in close and teased her, warning her not to lose her pants. Birna, in her sweet way, took her post at Eivor’s other side, leaning her smiling, sleepy head on her shoulder. Eivor did not mind. Birna had lost much in this battle as well. If she could be of any small comfort to her, she would. 

Soon, the revelry became the sound of quiet snores. The fires began to die down. Her crew found their way to their bedrolls or passed out where they sat; Birna was among the latter. Eivor stood, careful not to jostle her, and made her way through the camp, counting heads and ensuring all were accounted for. Satisfied with the safety of their position and knowing that everyone was near, she lay down on her bedroll to sleep. 

Morning came, harsh and bright. The land they camped on felt different in the light of day. Smoke from the razed village of Chippenham curled lazily into the sky, reminding them of the horrors they’d faced not a day before. Ash from the funeral pyre had been carried by a breeze to their camp, falling like snow. It turned Eivor’s stomach. She was determined to find her way home today. No more delays. She needed to remind herself that there was still something here for her. 

“Vili,” she said, pushing her foot against his back to rouse him. “I’m leaving. I trust you’ll be able to lead our crew back home?”

“Aye,” he replied, his voice raspy with sleep. “Ravensthorpe needs you back today?”

Eivor looked away. “ _ I _ need to be back,” she clarified.

He stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Then you should go. I’ll make sure this lot gets back safely, not a single one lost to the wilds of Hamtunscire.” 

“Thank you, Arse Stick,” she said with a half smile. 

Eivor rode all day, only taking time to rest her horse when needed. When she finally rode into Ravensthorpe, night had fallen, the stars were already high, the moon lighting her path. The village’s fires were burning low, only the occasional lantern glowing to indicate anyone was still awake. 

Eivor was weary, deep in her bones weary. She rode to the stables, taking care to feed and water her horse. By the time she finished, her head throbbed steadily, an ache that had been building all day. She needed sleep, in a comfortable bed, not a bedroll laid upon rocky soil. Eivor practically stumbled her way to the longhouse, so eager for her bed. Mouse growled, deep in his throat, in greeting and she rubbed his ears as she passed. 

Walking to her room in the quiet dark, she nearly tripped. Randvi had fallen asleep on a stool, propped up against the doorway, her legs stretched in front of her. Eivor crouched and peered at her sleeping face, her eyebrows knit together. A strand of hair had fallen from Randvi’s braid, resting against her cheekbone. Reaching out, Eivor gently tucked it behind Randvi’s ear. 

Randvi stirred then, her gray eyes slowly blinking open. “Eivor,” she whispered. “Welcome home.” 

Eivor laughed lowly. “Do you always make it a habit to sleep in my doorway while I’m gone?” she teased.

Randvi rubbed her eyes, pulling her legs back to stand. “Only when I’m worried. Now, tell me of your time in Hamtunscire before you retire.”

Her voice grave, Eivor reported on the mission. “Hamtunscire has fallen, and with it the Kingdom of Wessex. But the cost was great. Maybe too great for all we gained.”

Randvi nodded, her eyes serious. “Rest, then. You have earned it.” 

“On the back of so many. Time will tell if it was worth it.” Eivor’s eyes burned, her voice heavy with sorrow. 

The dark felt close, intimate, as she stood for a heartbeat, so near to Randvi she could have pressed their cheeks together. Randvi held her gaze, looking for all the world like the savior Eivor needed in that moment, the savior to take her close and be the healing balm to her wounded spirit. Without thought, moved only by the need to feel something outside of herself, Eivor leaned in and kissed Randvi softly, their lips meeting for the briefest moment. 

Randvi’s breathing hitched and she reached up to touch Eivor’s cheek. 

Eivor pulled back, her eyes wide, her own breath shallow, and apologized. “I’m sorry, Randvi. I’m beside myself.” 

“No need to apologize,” Randvi said quietly. 

“I need sleep,” Eivor said. 

“We can speak more in the morning.” 

Randvi began to move away, walking towards her own chambers. Eivor reached out to stop her, a light hand on her wrist. Randvi paused, looking back at her. Eivor had no words for her. She’d only needed to remind herself that Randvi was real. Her fingers dropped from Randvi’s wrist. 

“I’ll come to you then,” Eivor said simply. 

Randvi smiled, a small curl of her lips, and nodded. 

Mouse padded into the room with a small whine, then circled the rug before curling up at the foot of Eivor’s bed. She smiled. She would sleep well tonight. After undressing, she lay down, pulling a fur over her. She was warm and comfortable at long last. Sleep fell over her quickly, a blanket over her mind. 

That night came the ghosts of those she’d lost. She found herself reliving the moment Hunvald had taken his final breath. He was so young; Eivor felt breathless at the loss. Looking at her, pain etched on his face, he did not thank her for her friendship. He chastised her for her greed, for chasing hollow glory, and for leading him to his doom. Eivor did not have the words to challenge him. 

Then a fog fell over her and she wandered, unsure of which direction she was facing. It poured into her mouth and nose, she felt dizzy with the thickness of it, the way it seemed to replace the air in her lungs. Coughing, she stumbled over something. Looking down, she saw Soma. 

“Soma,” she cried, kneeling next to her. Lifting Soma by her shoulders, Eivor cradled her. Her blood soaked tunic stained Eivor’s hands, pouring like a river from her back. Eivor watched in horror as the ground around her swelled and flooded with it. She cried Soma’s name again, over and over, until her voice was sore. 

Soma opened her eyes, looking up at Eivor. She smiled. 

“Eivor, you’re with me,” she said, her voice low and comforting. 

Eivor smiled back. “Can you stand, my friend?” 

“No,” Soma said, her smile falling. “I must tell you something.”

Eivor leaned down to listen. “Yes, anything.”

“I have found the traitor,” Soma said, her eyes locked with Eivor.

“Yes, it was Galinn.” Eivor felt confused.

“No,” Soma said again. Reaching up, she cupped Eivor’s cheek. “No, Eivor. It was you.” 

Soma wailed then, the wound in her chest bursting into flames. Eivor jumped back in horror, the flames burning her hands. Soma dropped from her arms, one hand still lifted in Eivor’s direction. Her skin and flesh burned away, charred, ash flitting into the sky. And with her remains, so too went Eivor’s breath, wisping like smoke from her body until she could no longer breathe. She reached for Soma, and with her last breath, she screamed. 

“SOMA!” she shouted, sitting up, her breathing wild. Her heart was pounding. She looked around her room, lit only by candlelight. All was as it should be. Mouse lifted his head, his ears perked at attention, but laid it back down when no other sound came. 

“Eivor,” came Randvi’s voice, breathless as if she’d run to Eivor’s room. Eivor glanced at her doorway to see Randvi stepping inside.

Eivor held up a hand, stopping her. “It was nothing. Only a bad dream.” 

Randvi walked inside anyway, her footsteps quiet. 

“There’s no need, Randvi,” Eivor protested, swinging her legs to the side of the bed. Her head throbbed and she rubbed her temples. She needed water. 

“You’re troubled,” Randvi replied. “I want to help.” 

Eivor stood and poured some water into a mug, drinking deeply. “I’m haunted,” she stated, setting the mug down on her table. “There’s nothing to be done.” 

Randvi stood next to Eivor and pressed a hand to her forearm. “Still, I’ll stay.”

Eivor couldn’t deny the swell of relief in her chest at the offer. Solitude might very well be her undoing tonight. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Randvi gave her a look. “Nonsense. We have slept side by side before. Tonight will be no different.” She gently pushed Eivor towards the bed. “Now, lay down.” 

Eivor raised her eyebrows at Randvi, even as she moved to sit, then laid back onto the furs. She was too tired to argue. 

Randvi walked to the other side of the bed and sat, leaning over Eivor. “Come. Let me tend to that headache.” 

Adjusting her position, Eivor closed her eyes as Randvi’s soft, cool fingertips touched her forehead. She pressed them against Eivor’s brow bones, sliding them down onto her temples, then repeated the movement. It had been ages since someone had ministered to Eivor’s needs this way. How many nights had she spent stitching her own wounds, self medicating in whatever way she could to heal herself, inside and out? For several minutes, she lay, basking in the attentive care of Randvi’s hands. 

“You do not need to,” Randvi said, her voice soft. “But if you’d like to tell me about these ghosts of yours, I would be glad to listen.” 

Eivor opened her eyes, looking up into Randvi’s face. Randvi was watching her, her eyes gentle. She did not deserve this gentleness. Eivor shut her eyes again, gritting her teeth. Pain welled, drawing close to the surface again. She turned her head and Randvi’s hands fell from her temples. 

“There is nothing to tell,” Eivor said, her voice rough. She stared at the wall, afraid she would choke on the tears that thickened her throat. “I misjudged. Paid a great price. And all I have lost is for naught.” She saw Randvi nod in her periphery, ever patient, and the grief that had been staying her tongue released it’s hold. “I watched Soma die. Hunvald as well. Hjorr, Ubba… all of them dead and gone. It is too much.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“I will not try to cure your ills with pretty words,” Randvi said. Eivor was grateful for her honesty. “I know it is a great burden you bear. But, I will do what I can to ease it for you.” 

Randvi’s hand lifted, touching Eivor’s throat gently. She grazed her neck, her fingers dancing along the pulse that thrummed there, then slid her hand down and into the collar of her tunic. She rested her palm against Eivor’s collarbone, her fingertips just touching the spot where Eivor’s heart hammered out of time within her chest. Conflict warred within Eivor.

She wanted to pull away, resist the soft touch of Randvi’s hands, the hushed respect in her voice. 

She wanted to curl in closer and push Randvi’s hand down further, into her chest, between her ribs, let her drag these demons from her body. 

Greed had not served her in the past. It would not serve her now. She ignored her desire to bring Randvi closer and simply covered Randvi’s hand with her own. 

They had spent many nights together, side by side, camped beneath the stars or near the warmth of the longhouse hearth. They’d talked late into the night, discussing Ravensthorpe or shared sagas. But Eivor had never felt this way during those nights together. She felt fractured. This fragility was unfamiliar, as if a single touch or wrong word might shatter her into a million, irreparable pieces. 

In the silence, Randvi shifted to lay next to Eivor. The night stretched out in front of them. Eivor was aware of Randvi’s body next to hers, the heat from her bare legs radiating underneath the furs. Their hands lay a hairsbreadth apart. Eivor longed to twine their fingers together, to fall asleep connected to the woman beside her. Her fingers twitched as if to encourage her to take action. She slid her palm along the top of the bedclothes, feeling the rough fur against her palm. The side of her hand brushed Randvi’s. Then, because she was helpless to this frailty she felt, she curled her fingers around Randvi’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

She half expected Randvi to say some clever quip, but no sound came from her side of the bed. Instead, she lifted Eivor’s hand and pressed her lips to the side of her thumb, near her wrist. Eivor’s eyes closed. Randvi kissed her hand again, a lingering press of her lips, and Eivor felt something crack open inside her chest. Something akin to peace bled through the cracks, filling her chest with warmth. She swore then and there that she would strive to become worthy. If there was anything left for her in this world, it would be to truly earn this, all of it. 

The loyalty of her people. 

Her healing relationship with Sigurd. 

The love Randvi had for her. 

It would be enough, if only she could deserve it.

  
  



End file.
